


Cellophane

by SwiggitySwioItsDio



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: :), Angst, Angst and Feels, Blood Magic (Dragon Age), Cheating, Cullen/Inquisitor really does not last, Desire Demons (Dragon Age), Domestic Disputes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Heavy Angst, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, The Universe says Fuck You to Inquisitor Lavellan, Unrequited Love, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend, and this bitch is melodramatic as fuck, but is it a romantic burn?, cannon but not, how many times can I tag angst until y'all realize that this is Hell's Roller coaster, slow start, this shit ain't pretty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 07:16:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20254279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwiggitySwioItsDio/pseuds/SwiggitySwioItsDio
Summary: When fighting against Demons, Darkspawn, and what feels like the entirety of The Fade, it’s important one expect the unexpected and prepare accordingly.There will always be bumps in the road, and for Erhemmet Lavellan, she planned and overcame as many of these as she could and refused to look back. Of course, when being mistaken for or compared to The Hero of Ferelden, these bumps become much steeper than they have to be.Trapped in the shadow of a corpse, the Inquisitor prepares, calculates, and does her best.No amount of careful planning or calculations could have prepared her or the Inquisition for the return of Niaerth Amell, The Hero of Ferelden, also famously known for having died during the Fifth Blight.Something isn’t right, and it’s up to Inquisitor Lavellan and two unlikely allies to get to the bottom of this.





	1. The Tip of the Iceberg

**Author's Note:**

> Oh you fuckin bet my dumbass has a playlist ready for this shit
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLEJfvrhJCZKKg2KuW4FbXTa530cqvMuEn

“Didn't I do it for you?

Why don't I do it for you?

Why won't you do it for me?

When all I do is for you?” 

\- FKA Twigs

  
  
  
  
  
  


“You look just like her”

The phrase brings the Inquisitor out of her thoughts. 

“Pardon?” Her attention shifts from the map on the war table to her spymaster, Leliana. The older woman’s expression was solemn and distant. She looked right at the Inquisitor, but she wasn’t truly seeing her. 

Leliana shook the thought from her mind. 

“Nothing. Forgive me.” 

Erhemmet let out an exhausted breath. 

“It’s alright, you don’t have to apologize for something like that.” 

Her gaze fell back to the war table, but her mind was elsewhere.

Erhemmet Lavellan was used to that particular phrase. When she first met Leliana, her gaze bore into her with a rage, then a sadness. When she met Cullen, well, at least he managed to stay stoic. It wasn’t until after their second meeting that he reacted. It was in Haven at the war table. Cassandra, Josephine, then Leliana had cleared out, but Cullen grabbed Erhemmet’s wrist and held her back. He said nothing initially. He just stared at her with such a gentle appreciation in his eyes that it surprised her. She had encountered many humans both before and after she joined her father’s clan. None had stared at her like this. She couldn’t help herself. She stared back, mesmerized by the color of his eyes and the intensity of his gaze. Cullen‘s gaze lingered on her until she pulled her wrist away. She opened her mouth to speak, to apologize for the sudden action, but Cullen spoke first. 

“Forgive me, but you... you reminded me of someone. You look so much like her...”

  


It didn’t help that some of the people in Haven would stare at her like a ghost. Erhemmet would have given them the benefit of the doubt if such gazes weren't accompanied by a hushed “She looks a lot like th’Hero, doesn’t she?” 

  


It burned into her like a brand. 

  


Those who had spoken to her often saw the late Hero of Ferelden before they saw the Elf in front of them. 

It was painful. 

When Leliana first learned that Erhemmet was going to Redcliffe, she had warned her. 

“You just... you look so much like her.”

It burned so bad, but they needed the Mages. 

The moment the King saw her face. He wouldn’t stop staring. At least his gaze held a twinge of distaste rather than absolute admiration. 

The Queen’s hard glare was almost refreshing. 

  


How desperate Erhemmet must have been to enjoy a cold glare from someone. At least then she could pretend that it was because she was an elf and not because she looked like a dead woman. 

  


Correspondence from the King of Ferelden inquiring on her health and well-being had increased after Redcliffe. 

She didn’t need to wonder why. 

  
  


Even when she stood up to Corypheus in Haven, it didn’t stop. 

Even when she crawled back to the Inquisition’s forces wearing sleepwear and shivering from the cold, it didn’t stop. 

Even when she became the Inquisitor it didn’t stop. 

Even now, it hasn’t stopped.

At this rate, it probably never will. 

“Perhaps we should take a five-minute break.” Josephine’s voice cut through the silence. It was a boat in the middle of a sea Erhemmet had been stranded in. She’d be a fool not to climb on. 

“I agree.” It was all she said before she walked towards the massive doors. Her advisors soon followed. Each step felt unnecessarily heavy as she briskly walked down the center aisle of the great hall.

  


How pathetic she felt to let one phrase hurt her so, but it did.

She wasn’t Erhemmet Lavellan, she was an elf who looked like Niaerth Amell. Everyone seemed to remind her of this. 

  


It burned into her skin.

  
  
  
  
  
  


She had just finished a second lap from one end of the battlements to the other when Cullen stopped her, concern present in his eyes. 

“Inquisitor, are you alright?” His tone was gentle. It was one he used when he let down the sturdy walls that the title of Commander built.

“I’m fine.” She said, turning to face him. 

Cullen sighed, moving next to her. Hesitantly, his hand shifted to hover on her lower back. When she showed no resistance, he relaxed and rested his warm palm against her. Erhemmet needed little instruction from thereon. They walked, Erhemmet leaning a bit closer to him. His touch was a comfort, though his gaze was painful. 

“You were staring at the map for a long time. Josephine was worried that something had happened with the anchor when you stopped responding to her questions.” Cullen said with a small chuckle. 

“It was that obvious, huh?” She said, the beginnings of a sad smile tugging at her lips. 

Cullen’s hand moved up her back as comfortingly as he could.

“I... I know how much you hate being reminded of... well, I doubt I need to say it.” 

“Tell me what she was like.” Her request came from nowhere. 

“Are you sure? I’d imagine you’d be tired of hearing about her.” His reluctance was impossible to hide, though he attempted to do so. 

Erhemmet’s gaze shifted towards him. 

“Please? I just... I need to know that I’m different from her.”

He shifted under the weight of her stare; his hand moving to rest on the pommel of his blade. Already she missed the warmth of his touch. Eventually, he let out a sigh of defeat and relented. 

“...Perhaps we should continue this discussion in my office.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Erhemmet! Wait! Please!” He had shouted, effectively catching the attention of those around them both. She had stopped, but couldn’t bear to face him. 

“I can explain please just... just listen-“ She was burning. Her skin was fire, her blood was venom, and her entire being had become fury incarnate. 

“No Cullen, you listen to me.” She growled out, turning back towards him with a hard glare. All that venom, all that rage, all of it was trained entirely on him. 

  


In the back of her mind, she knew he didn’t deserve it. 

  


He loved her. 

  


He said he loved her. 

  


He kissed her like he loved her. 

But deep down she could feel it, covered in so many layers of doubt. 

He didn’t love her. He loved her. 

“I was born in 9:15 of the Dragon Age to an Orlesian elf named Alegra. I lived in Orlais for most of my life working as a maid until my mother died. My employer was Madame Dufort, who tossed me out when she found out I was a mage. For all of the Blight, I was in Orlais working to survive. I’ve never once been inside a circle tower and I never will be. I came to Ferelden and found my Father’s clan where I struggled every day to be accepted by the Dalish. My name is not Niaerth Amell. I’ve never been Niaerth Amell, and I will never be Niaerth Amell."

He shrunk under her gaze. This only angered her further. 

“My name is Erhemmet Lavellan. I’m Orlesian, I’m Dalish and I’m an Elf. And above all that I’m the leader of this Inquisition, and I demand to be respected and acknowledged as such.”

The last time she had seen Cullen look so pitiful was after a nightmare. He had clung to her, tears falling down his cheeks in tiny little rivulets, and pressed desperate kisses to her shoulder. 

He had begged her to stay with him until he fell asleep. 

He held her so sweetly...

  


“If you’re unable to do this, then perhaps you should take a moment to yourself, Commander.” She hissed his title like it was poison in her mouth. 

It was the final nail in the coffin. 

She couldn’t bear to look at him. Erhemmet turned around and stomped off, desperately ignoring the nervous glances from the people around her. 

She could pretend all she liked, but everyone heard her shouting. 

But how could they blame her? The man she loved had just muttered the name of a Dead Woman against her lips. 

She did not return to the War Room in favor of locking herself in her quarters. Right now, she wanted to be alone. 

  
  
  
  


—————————————

  
  


Varric was the one to check on her. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


They weren’t close, not by any means, but that changed nothing. Erhemmet never wanted anyone to see her in this state. Her face was puffy and red, her eyes wet and cheeks soaked in tears. She had been crying for what felt like hours. The last time she had cried like this was after Redcliffe. When that happened, she hid away from everyone. Unfortunately, she couldn’t do the same thing now. Everyone knew where she was. Anyone could find her. 

She was tangled in her sheets, her face buried in her pillows. When she heard the heavy steps of the intruder up the stairs she reached for the closest thing, that being whatever items were resting on her nightstand, and with one swipe of her arm, they were flung towards the direction of Varric. 

It was a warning. 

Yet the dwarf didn’t acknowledge it. By the time he made it to the top of the stairs, the flung items were on the floor. Not even close to hitting him.

“Well, at least your aim is good. Arm’s a little weak though, but hey, just a bit angrier and you might have hit me.” It was an attempt to lighten the dreary atmosphere, but a poor one on his part. 

“Get out.” She rasped, her fingers curling into claws against her mattress. 

Varric stood frozen on the spot. She didn’t have to look at him to know that he was unsure. Unsure about what exactly, she didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. He didn’t leave. Instead, he settled on the couch across from the bed. 

“Things went that bad with Curly, Huh?” He said after a quiet moment. 

The elf sighed, and after a long pause of nothing, sat up. Begrudgingly, she turned her body towards him. 

“You heard, huh?” She inquires, though she already knows the answer. 

Varric snorts. “Emeralds, I’m pretty sure everyone from here to Haven heard you.” 

She didn’t respond. She didn’t know how to. Her lack of response warranted a soft exhale from Varric. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He says, his tone shifting to something softer. It was something she wasn’t used to from him, but at the moment it was a welcome change. Erhemmet averts her gaze from the floor to the bare nightstand. 

“It’s not something I want to bother you with. And I don’t want to force this on you and make it your business.” She says dejectedly. 

“It doesn’t have to be my business, Emeralds. Just think of it as screaming at the sky or something. I won’t tell anyone, and I won’t judge, but I won’t push you to share anything you don’t want to.” He says with a genuine smile. It was a rare thing, she realizes. 

Eventually, she relents, deciding it better not to bottle it up for later.

“We were taking a break from a meeting in the war room. Cullen ended up finding me on the battlements, so we talked a bit then we went back to his office,” she sighs, hanging her head in shame. “It’s my fault for... I asked him to talk about the Hero of Ferelden because I wanted to... I’ve heard ‘You look so much like her’ so many times that I’m certain if I hear it again I’ll snap and blow up Skyhold.” She says with a growl. For a split second, it looked like Varric was taking that threat seriously.

She continues. 

“I wanted to find some sort of difference between me and her, so he told me. He told me everything he remembered about her.” She ran her fingers through her short, dark brown locks. Erhemmet wasn’t sure if she even wanted to continue talking about what had happened.

“I... I kissed him, then he muttered her name against my lips and tried to kiss me again and I just... I got so mad. I’ve tried to ignore it but it doesn’t work when my spymaster and Commander stare at me and point out how much I look like her. So many people don’t see me as me, they see me as her long before they even realize I’m an elf.” Her brows furrowed in rage. “I can’t be me in this country. They see her and expect me to be exactly like her, and I can’t without disappointing someone. I don’t even want to! I want to be me again, but I can’t. It’s driving me insane.” She pauses, looking down at her clenched fists. “And when he whispered her name against my lips... it’s like he wasn’t kissing me. He was kissing her, it’s always been her. I’ve tried so hard to ignore that but it’s true.” 

“Y’know, I struggled to find a good nickname for you when we first met.” She raises her head to look at him, confusion etched onto her face. “I’m usually really good at pinning down people, but I struggled a bit when it came to you. Seems like the reason why is cause you haven’t been given the chance to shine. You’re the Inquisitor of this whole shit show, but you’ve been restrained. Now I’ve never met the Hero of Ferelden, nor do I know much about her, but it’d take an idiot not to see the difference. The ears definitely help with that.” 

Her fist unclenches, a small chuckle escaping past her lips. 

“But at the same time, it’s important to understand that these people were close to her, they cared for her and those feelings are still raw. Grief is a shit thing to deal with Emeralds, and sometimes it takes longer to deal with for other people. It’s good to step back and realize how they feel. But they should extend the same courtesy to you. Especially considering all the shit you’ve done already.”

“You’re much wiser than you let on.” 

“Wise? Nah. I’m a writer Emeralds, I’m just really good at stringing words together and making them sound like it.” He said with a chuckle. Then he learns forwards a bit. 

“You know Cullen loves you, right? Given the chance, he’d follow you like a lovesick puppy, and considering the fact that the last woman he did that to was a special brand of crazy? Well, it’s helping him relax. I can only hope he’s done the same for you, and if he hasn’t, then you both need to talk.” 

It helped to hear that, somewhat. At the very least it was what she needed to hear. “Thanks, Varric. I appreciate you coming up.” 

“Well, better me than Sera.” He says with a chuckle. Erhemmet raises an eyebrow at this. 

“Bull, Sera, Blackwall, and I drew lots to see who was gonna go up. Sera drew the shortest stick so I volunteered instead.” He says with a nervous grin. He was expecting her to get upset, but instead, she laughed. 

“Maker, if Sera came up here. Her solution would probably be something along the lines of ‘I’ll shove an arrow up each o’their arses every time they muck it up’ or something.” She says between laughs. “Oddly enough that might have made me feel better too.” 

Varric lets out a breathy chuckle. “That definitely sounds like something she’d say.” 

They stay silent for a moment, but Varric’s eyes stay on the Inquisitor. She looked like shit, but she had stopped crying at least. 

“Remember that friend of mine is told you about? The one that might be able to help against Corypheus? He arrived just a while ago.” He said, watching her carefully for a reaction. To his relief, or perhaps his chagrin, she had none. 

“I suppose that means I need to put back on the Inquisition pants then.” She says with a chuckle. 

“We don’t have to go see him now, though it is only a matter of time before Cassandra spots him and decides to take it out on me.” He says, a grin on his lips. “But really, take your time. It doesn’t matter if it’s now or later, she will be coming for my head regardless once she hears about it.” 

The Inquisitor stands up from the bed and works to lace up her boots. 

“I just need to clean up and I’ll be good to go.” She says, her eyes focused on lacing her boots correctly. 

“Uhh, small problem with that, Emeralds.” Her head snaps back up towards him, her eyes wide and her expression concerned. 

“What?” 

Varric points over towards the scattered items close to the stairs. She felt like an idiot for not realizing before. The metal pitcher was intact, but the porcelain basin had shattered. Erhemmet sighed.

“We can stop in Josie’s room on the way.”

  
  


—————————————-

The meeting with Hawke had gone well. At the very least he didn’t show any signs of disapproval on his end. Part of her appreciated that. 

He shared very little information, instead insisting that she meet someone he had been working on an investigation with. The Investigation in question involved Red Lyrium and Corypheus. 

Part of her felt like she didn’t have much of a choice when she agreed. 

  
  
  


Within the next few days, her advisors were informed of the upcoming trip and supplies were prepared. 

The entire keep buzzed with activity as she and her companions made the final preparations to leave Skyhold. 

Cullen had stopped her just as she mounted her horse. 

“I...I want to apologize.” He had said, looking into her eyes. 

Sweet Maker being angry at him was much harder than it needed to be. 

“We can talk when I return, Cullen.” Her voice was firm, but the pain lingered. It always lingered regardless of who it was from. 

“Erhemmet please, I don’t want this to be... I don’t want this to end, not like this.” His tone dropped to that familiar softness that made her heart beat just a bit faster. Her other companions, now on their horses, waited for her. Hawke was the one who called out for her to hurry. Her brows furrowed, her heart clenched, then finally, she relented. She cupped his cheek with a gentle hand. He practically melted into her touch. 

“This won’t be the end, not if I have any say in it.” He turned his head, pressing his lips to the center of her palm. 

“Promise me you’ll come home safe?” He said as he rests his gloved hand over hers. 

“I always do.” She smiled, then reluctantly pulled away. Cullen held onto her hand to the last possible second, the heat of his touch lingering upon her flesh. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


She hated Crestwood. 

  


Everything was wet, and the undead was a definite setback, though The Fallow Mire was worse. At least in Crestwood, she could solve the undead issue. Though that took time, and she had a prior engagement before she could even think of tackling that issue. 

Lives where at stake and she knew this, so she provided aid where it was needed and fought back the undead when she could, at least she did while on a mad hunt for a random cave in an area that felt chock-full of caves. 

It was a relief that Hawke came when he did, otherwise, she’d have said “fuck it” and would have left to deal with the undead instead. 

  


Their walk at that point was a simple one. The cave in question was marked with a skull, a red streak across the nose. 

It was a smuggler’s cave, or at least a mimic of one. Most of those caves were marked with a band of red across the eyes, not the nose. Anyone unaware of the difference between the skulls would have hurried past under the assumption that it was indeed a smuggler’s cave. It was a clever trick indeed.

Just as they moved to enter the cave, undead sprouted from the ground around them, moaning out pained cries as they pulled themselves from the wet earth. 

No one hesitated to draw their weapons.

Bright bursts of fire were flung towards the undead that had clustered around Bull. He swung his great sword unabashedly while Sera let a hail of arrows rain down upon them. Blackwall had decidedly remained close to the elves, fighting off any of the undead that got too close to her or Sera. 

To her surprise, Hawke was a mage as well. She had never seen staffs of his make before, and with the blade at the end, she had assumed it was some sort of spear. 

Blackwall had taken to protecting Sera more so than Erhemmet. He knew that she could protect herself, and she did. 

Claws had raked down her back, making her hiss out in pain and look over her shoulder to see one of the undead who had gotten too close. 

“Inquisitor!” Blackwall shouted as he ran towards her. 

In an instant, she had evaporated into frost and dashed back through the corpse, leaving it covered in a thin veil of ice. When she reformed, she had managed to land one burst of fire before a fist-shaped cluster of rocks flew towards the undead and crushed it against one side of the mountain. 

Her gaze snapped to Hawke. He looked rather pleased with himself and offered her a grin. 

She’d have to thank him later. 

That would have to wait, however. Her attention was diverted abruptly by the appearance of more undead.   
  
  


The moment the last of the undead fell, she stomped into the cave. She was hurt, tired, and wanted to get this over with. 

  
  


When she walked into the cave, she walked in alone. 

  
  
  
  
  


She had heard the name once from the old Quartermaster, but she didn’t know who she spoke of, nor did she want to get on her bad side when they were initially introduced. 

Now there she stood, completely still with a sword pointed at her throat in a challenge by perhaps one of the most haggard-looking men she’s seen. 

  


Loghain Mac Tir was imposing, his sharp features drawn into a stoic glare. His black hair was short, but it was notably more dark in comparison to the gleaming silver and blue-grey warden armor he was wearing. The man’s lips were almost impossibly thin, his bottom lip sticking out just a bit farther than the top one. His thick brows were prominent, just as his nose was, though it curved into the shape of a gentle hook. 

Gentle... 

Gentle was a strange word to describe a man such as this.

Dark circles rested beneath his unnaturally piercing blue eyes. He was exhausted, it was clear he was exhausted, and yet he kept his head up high, his glare dominant, and his entire posture as imposing as humanly possible. 

Recognition sparked in his eyes. They went wide with shock for a brief moment before rage replaced it. 

Erhemmet knew that look all too well. 

He nearly swung the sword in earnest, he would have if not for Hawke, bursting into the portion of the cave the warden was occupying. 

“It’s just me, I’ve brought the Inquisitor.” He says, somewhat out of breath. Loghain’s intense gaze shifted towards Hawke.

A full two seconds pass before he sheathed his blade. 

“Warden Loghain Mac Tir. I believe we have a common cause, Inquisitor.”

He briefly looks her up and down, but he studies her face with the most scrutiny. 

“I’ve heard many things about you, though I didn’t think the rumors about your appearance would hold much merit.” His glare pierces into her, making her feel hot with anger and cold with unease at the same time. The vastly different sensations only served to put her on edge. He didn’t care much for her reaction and continued. 

The insight he and Hawke offered on Corypheus wasn’t enough, but it was more than they had previously. What worried her most, however, was the Orlesian Grey Wardens and The Calling. She wasn’t entirely sure what it was exactly, but if it made the Wardens go into apocalypse mode then it was reason enough to worry. Loghain seemed to approve of her coming to this conclusion. 

“In truth, we don’t know fully what Corypheus is, but he’s connected to the Taint in some way. On top of that, he can employ the use of demons.” 

“Demons? How do you know this?” 

“Lord Seeker Lucius Corin wasn’t truly the Lord Seeker, but rather an Envy demon. That’s how Corypheus managed to corrupt the Templars. Some of them jumped ship before Red Lyrium was fully integrated with the rest of their supply. That’s how I learned of this.” 

Erhemmet pinched the bridge of her nose in thought. She considers her next line of questioning carefully. 

“Is it possible that the use of this demon was a one-time thing?” She says, almost reluctant to hear the answer. Loghain’s expression doesn’t change, minus the crease of displeasure in his brows. 

“If that were the case, I wouldn’t have brought it up. However I cannot say for certain. It’s something you should have your people prepare for at least.” His eyes narrowed, effectively making her shrink further than necessary for a woman of her position.

“Then my people shall prepare for it. Your help is much appreciated. Inform me when you’re ready to leave. We’ll escort you out of Crestwood.” She turned away from Loghain, making for a swift exit from the cave. The discomfort had peaked, leaving her with a feeling of dread that settled in a cold sweat at the base of her neck. 

  
  
——————————-

Usually when Erhemmet arrives back in Skyhold, the stable hands are ready to take her and her companions’ horses. Once they leave, her advisors flock to her and update her on what’s happening both inside and outside of Skyhold. After that she kisses Cullen, then goes to the war room to discuss more pressing issues involving Corypheus.

When she arrived back in Skyhold today, no one came to greet her. No stable hand came to collect their horses, none of her advisors came to give her any news.

The normally bustling keep looked empty. She would have believed so if not for the commotion coming from the Great Hall.

Fear settled into her gut as she and her companions dismounted.

Erhemmet signaled caution towards the rest of her party, then as stealthily as possibly, made her way into the Great Hall. Her companions followed with equal footing.

The scene before her was a confusingly joyous one.

Many had swarmed closer towards the throne. She heard a wild mix of laughter, prayer, and crying dispersed at random amongst them. It was like the Maker himself had just performed a miracle before their eyes. It was packed tight, but Erhemmet was tiny, and determined at that. Her companions hesitated, but understandably so. The only one who could probably follow her was Sera. To her surprise however, Loghain was the one who stepped up, grabbing her arm as to not lose her. Erhemmet jumped slightly. His hand managed to encompass her entire wrist, and grip tightly, securely. That feeling of dread returned, but she forced it down. She weaves through the crowd with the grace of a dancer with a heavy ball and chain attached to her wrist. Loghain navigated like a charging Qunari. It was a strange combination, but they hadn’t lost each other.

At some point, Loghain’s grip had loosened enough that Erhemmet’s wrist slipped from his grasp. It gave her reason to pause, but in an instant they were separated. Whispers of ‘A miracle from the maker’ graced her ears, making her stop and wonder what it was causing them to react in such a way. Her brows furrowed. There was only one way to find out.

She continued forwards, trying to be as unassuming as possible until finally she broke through the sea of people with a stumble forwards.

Erhemmet recomposed herself quickly. Loghain stood only a few feet away. He looked like he had seen a ghost. It was an expression she’d never expect to see on such a hardened man. Her gaze turned from him to her advisors. Josephine and Leliana stood close, Josephine looked confused, whereas Leliana looked happy. Both were in similar states of awe however.

Finally her eyes drifted towards the source of the commotion.

Erhemmet new little of what happened during the Fifth Blight, after all she was in Orlais at the time, but she heard the tales. She heard of how one woman killed the Archdemon and ended the Blight. She had heard the tale of the Silver Knight carried her corpse through the streets of Denerim to the King of Ferelden, her lover. She had heard every story, every detail, over and over again, for she had been compared to the Hero daily.

And now here she was, staring into the eyes of the man Erhemmet loved, with a hand on his cheek. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact he looked happy, in love.

It all came to a head when one thing struck her in her mind.

She really did look so much like her.

There were features she lacked due to being a human, but the resemblance was palpable.

Warm, caramel colored skin, soft dark brown hair, large bright eyes, soft looking lips....

It was like looking in a mirror.

The woman’s hair was long, reaching her lower back. Her lips were painted a deep red, or perhaps they were naturally so. Her eyes were a cold, Lyrium blue, piercing in every way, and if not for the glow of magic, it’d be closer to an icy blue instead.

The hero of Ferelden stood, living and breathing only a few feet away.

It was indeed a miracle from the Maker, for such a thing as this should have been impossible.

Suddenly, the Hero leaned forwards into Cullen, softly touching her lips to his. Within seconds the kiss was deepened.

Erhemmet could feel her heart shatter, she could feel the shards piercing her chest, entering her veins and chilling her with a cold rage throughout her body.

She shoved through the crowd and made her way to her quarters.


	2. What Could Have Been

  
  


The hurt she felt was one unique to many of the maidens she had read about in the romantic novels given to her by her employer back in Orlais. She had always pushed such ideas as silly, make-believe things, but now...

Perhaps those stories had a stronger footing in reality than she thought. 

Erhemmet supported herself against the mantle of the fireplace in her quarters. The heat of the flames burned just as bright and hot as she felt. She couldn’t help but feel angry at what had happened. 

It had been two weeks since Niaerth had arrived, and almost immediately she attached herself to Cullen like a leech. The only time she wasn’t with him was when he visited Erhemmet. At first, these visits happened daily, he would inquire about her wellbeing like he would a colleague. Each visit managed to twist Erhemmet’s heart just a bit tighter. He acted as if everything was fine between them like he didn’t kiss Niaerth in front of the entire Inquisition. The truth was that nothing was fine. He would never reach for her hand, he’d never try to hold her as he did before, he’d never make any attempt to kiss her. She longed for the soft press of his lips against her own, she wanted to feel his arms around her again. It was only when she came to terms with how needy she was did she realize how much she missed him. It made their previous argument moot. She’d rather listen to him mutter Niaerth’s name against her lips for eternity than go without his touch entirely. 

Erhemmet sighed, pushing off of the mantle. Today was one where she was supposed to focus on paperwork and war table operations. Erhemmet was the type to finish her work early then feel useless for the rest of the day due to boredom and a lack of tasks. It seemed that today was special, seeing as it was already afternoon and she hadn’t looked at a single one of the reports she had gotten that morning. With a few, mindless steps, she sits at her desk. Might as well focus on that instead. 

But she couldn’t help how her mind wandered.

Cullen’s most recent visit was five days ago. However that time he wasn’t alone. Niaerth clung to his arm, smiling at her, but there was something sinister lying just beneath the surface, Erhemmet could feel it. 

Or perhaps she just imagined it.

Or she was looking for a good reason to hate Niaerth that would make sense to someone other than her. Erhemmet was polite, however. She smiled kindly, she was respectful, and not once did she attempt to rip out that woman’s throat with her teeth like she wanted to. 

No matter how sweet she was, no matter how polite or respectful, Niaerth was displeased. Niaerth’s visible displeasure at the end of that visit resulted in Cullen never returning, at least that was what she assumed.

Erhemmet ran her fingers through her hair. Though her heart ached, she had a job to do. She had promised peace, order, and Corypheus’ head to Thedas. That was her priority, not silly little... dalliances. 

But it felt like so much more than just that...

Erhemmet shook the thought from her head and shifted her attention to the papers before her. They were letters mostly. Some people thanked her for what she was doing, others were critical of her and her organization. Occasionally she received plain sheets of paper with nothing on it besides a “Filthy Knife Eared Bitch” scrawled boldly in penmanship more pitiful than her own. Ironically she liked those letters. It reminded her of the dingy little apartment she had with her mother in Orlais.

She ignored the letters in favor of looking over the daily reports her advisors would leave her. Usually this was something to be handled in the war room, however ever since Niaerth arrived, Erhemmet found herself unable to look at Cullen, even his previous visits had become hard to sit through. So she requested daily reports be delivered to her quarters instead. 

Her eyes briefly scanned over a report from Josephine. Erhemmet sighs. 

She felt like a child. Cullen was her advisor, it was his job to advise her, and yet she couldn’t bear to face him. It made her want to slam her head onto her desk. But in the long run, it was probably better this way. 

She reached for the second report in the stack. Her brows furrowed as she read carefully. It was unlike Cullen to write so... 

The words weren’t in any language she was familiar with. Though the salutation was visible enough for her to recognize that it was Cullen’s handwriting. Erhemmet had become familiar with the man’s tight scrawlings of ‘Inquisitor’. Though in this letter it was different from how he usually wrote. It looked as if someone was forcing him to write.

Unease settled into her stomach just as her heart clenched. 

This was unusual.

For a moment, Erhemmet considered going to check on Cullen. That would be the right thing to do, correct? But explaining it would be a nightmare. Just saying ‘Hey this report you wrote looks different from the others because I’m well acquainted with your handwriting’ would not end well in her mind. But if something was seriously wrong...

Niaerth would comfort him then. There was no more space in Cullen’s heart for an elf with a stolen face. 

Erhemmet stood up, the report in hand. She’d just ask Cullen for clarification instead. She could say it’s been a long day, she was tired, deciphering illegible handwriting was too much for her. Perfect. Cullen would doubt it, but it was a non-creepy explanation of her visit. Excitement and nervousness danced around in her chest to the erratic cacophony of her heartbeat. 

As she left her quarters, doubt and dread settled in the back of her mind. Could she truly stand to look at this man? Did she have the guts to even speak to him? To look into his eyes again? 

She was making a mountain out of a molehill, she knew this well, but she couldn’t help herself. 

She walked down the stairs towards the makeshift infirmary. No harm in checking over things here. Every day it felt like more and more people were injured, and the number of people who could help was becoming fewer by the second. Her brows furrowed. They would need a proper infirmary soon. 

She received little acknowledgment as she passed, the polite bow of a head followed by a respectful “Inquisitor.” 

No matter how often she heard it, she doubted she would ever be used to it. 

As she approached the final set of stairs up to the battlements, she paused. Was this a good idea? 

Her previous worries returned full force. 

Maybe she shouldn’t do this...

Her feet moved without the rest of her being aware of it. It wasn’t until she was outside the door to his office that she returned to herself. 

No going back now.

With a deep inhale of breath, she opened the door. 

“Cullen? I have a question about your-“

The words died in her throat as she looked up from the report to the office itself. She expected Niaerth to be inside, but not like this. 

The woman in question was bent over the desk, completely naked while Cullen rutted into her like a Mabari in heat. The desk creaked with the effort of their actions. 

Erhemmet was stunned into silence. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t speak, it was like her entire body had froze and shut down on itself. 

Niaerth looked up at Erhemmet, her expression as neutral as possible. Then without missing a beat, her painted red lips slowly slithered into a sinister smirk. Her eyes burned right into Erhemmet’s own as if teasing her further with her victory. Then she moaned.

Cullen remained oblivious, at least Erhemmet assumed so. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. After another second, she turned around and closed the door.

Maker’s breath...

Her chest burned, her breathing was heavy, and her head spun. Why was the world spinning? Why was she even surprised by what she saw? She expected this to happen ever since they kissed, so why was she upset now? 

Perhaps the knowledge that it was true was what hurt so much. Erhemmet took a step forwards, swaying weakly. She needed to get out of here. She needed to leave or go back to her room or something, anything. 

Anything to get the sight of them together out of her mind. 

Each step made the world around her spin just a bit faster, causing her to stumble. It was a wonder she had managed to get down the stairs at all, but the image of Cullen and Niaerth together just...

The sounds of skin slapping against skin rang through her ears, accompanied by the disgusting pig squeals that were Niaerth’s moaning, And the way her painted lips curled into a smile when she saw her... 

The fact that they looked so alike, that it was her face smirking at her...

She tripped at the last three stairs, just barely landing on her feet. Her vision blurred, the earth beneath her tilted erratically as she walked, and she didn’t know where she was going, or why she had even come down to the market place to begin with. She stood still, invisible to those around her. She was unsure of where to go from here. Where did she want to go? Erhemmet looked around, hyperaware, yet entirely unaware of her surroundings. Her feet took on a mind of their own, leading her to the barn with hurried, clumsy steps. It was usually empty minus Blackwall, but he was a good man and a close friend. He would understand her plight, wouldn’t he? She was thankful that the door was already opened. She wasn’t sure if she’d have the strength to open it herself. Nausea delved deeper into her system as she tripped inside. Her legs turned to jelly just as she fell onto one of the nearby wooden poles. The barn’s sole inhabitant, Blackwall, flinched, startled by the sound of her ramming against one of the wooden beams. The beam supported her weight as she sagged weakly against it. Blackwall, as honorable and kind as ever, was at her side in an instant, a hand on her shoulder to keep her steady. 

“My Lady! Are you alright?” 

Her nausea peaked. She felt like she was going to be sick. 

Erhemmet doubled over, vomiting onto Blackwall’s boots. The foul bile burned her throat painfully, almost as painful as the hurt in her chest. If he reacted, Blackwall made no sign of it. 

Seconds later, Erhemmet collapsed. 

Subconsciously, she was relieved that Blackwall was there to catch her. 

Blackwall was there to catch her. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


She awoke to the ceiling of the barn and a heavy woolen blanket draped over her. 

She wasn’t sure how long she was out but based on the painful thrumming in her head and the dryness of her throat, it was much longer than she had wanted.

Her head pounded in protest as she sat up with a groan. A waterskin was held out to her. Erhemmet looked at it, then to the person who held it out to her. 

Blackwall was always a kind man. He was often a role model for her. Despite being solitary, he had a good eye for things, and he was an experienced soldier. Because of this, Erhemmet often sought out his opinion on things. Sometimes he knew exactly what to say without knowing it himself. He was valuable to the Inquisition as a resource, But above that, he was valuable to her as a friend. 

With a small utterance of ‘Thank you’, Erhemmet took the waterskin, gulping down mouthfuls of water to conquer her thirst. 

Blackwall silently watched her with thinly veiled worry. He had questions no doubt, just as she did. 

Erhemmet let out a satisfied breath, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Blackwall took the waterskin as it was handed back to him. 

“How long was I out?” She says, finally daring to look him in the eye. 

“Couple hours. I had Solas come to check on you. I was afraid it had something to do with the anchor.” He speaks plainly for the most part.

“Was it?” She asks, though she already knows the answer.

“Solas didn’t seem to think so. Did you know it glows when you sleep?” 

“I was told that it does, I never believed it until now.” She looks towards Blackwall, watching him carefully to gauge his reaction. Confusion etched onto his worn features. 

“What changed?”

“You told me. You’re an honest man, Blackwall. I trust you.” A small smile tugged at her lips. Blackwall snorts, smiling as well, though it didn’t reach his eyes. His mind was elsewhere. 

“You flatter me, my lady.” 

Her smile grows. She’s thankful to have a man like this in her life. 

“You’re a friend. That means something to me. The fact that you stayed with me this whole time after I vomited on your boots means something too. Sorry about that by the way.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I’m more worried about you.”

Blackwall’s smile transitions into a frown, concern marking his features. 

“It’s not like you to get sick like this, and I know you don’t drink.”

She knew the question that would follow, but she still felt so unprepared for it. 

“Did something happened before you came in here?”

It was a harmless question from a concerned friend, but the mere thought of it alone was enough to re-ignite the hurt she had felt. It plucked at her heartstrings one by one until she felt just as poorly as she did earlier. 

She could feel the prickle of tears in her eyes. 

She could not stop herself this time.

Blackwall was perceptive, that much was certain. He watched as her eyes became wet before she even realized that she was beginning to cry. The warrior furrowed his brows in guilt. He was useless when it came to matters of the heart.

“I’ll... leave you be.” Blackwall said just as he was about to stand, but before he could move, Erhemmet reached out, grabbing his hand. She wasn’t looking at him, she couldn’t. Her eyes were trained on her feet as her face twisted with anguish. Thin fingers curled around Blackwall’s hand tightly, as if she’d float away if she let go. Finally, she turned to look at Blackwall with a choked sob. 

“P-Please. I don’t want to be alone.” The pain in her voice is apparent, wracking through her and marring her worse than any dagger could have. 

Blackwall was frozen on the spot, his brows furrowed in a sort of conflict with himself. It was unclear whether he won or lost, but his expression softened to one of care. He placed his other hand on top of hers, rubbing the back of her palm with his thumb. 

“I’m here, my lady.” 

Erhemmet smiled weakly. She was doing her best to stay composed, but her grip on Blackwall’s hand betrayed her, exposing how desperately she didn’t want to be alone. Despite her painful grip, Blackwall remained calm, comforting her as best as he could whilst keeping some distance out of fear of making her and himself uncomfortable. 

It was a small gesture but appreciated nonetheless. 

They stayed like that for hours, Erhemmet trying to stifle her tears while Blackwall held her hand delicately, almost like a lover would. The warmth radiating from him calmed her better than she could herself. 

It was uncertain who crossed the boundary first, but eventually, Blackwall had joined her on the pallet. She clung to him for dear life, her head buried into his chest. The man didn’t resist, or perhaps he didn’t want to. He held her close, one massive hand running through her hair as she cried. 

Erhemmet felt truly blessed to have this man in her life.

Eventually, she cried to sleep in Blackwall’s arms.


End file.
